By Anna Marie Bangs
The spider in my sink
reminds me of me.
It’s tough and determined,
yet fragile as can be.
I flushed it down the drain
to drown it well, you see,
but each time I looked back,
it was looking up at me.
I spit on it with toothpaste.
I bubbled it with soap.
Then out of admiration,
I found a way to cope.
So now I spend my mornings
with a hero, I must think,
for I talk and carry on
with the spider in my sink.
